


A kind of courtship

by KByrd



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2060484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KByrd/pseuds/KByrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You could it a courtship, except it's not clear who is doing the courting. A post Avengers romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hill catches him as he comes out of one of the boardrooms looking tense and irritated, his jaw set, frown lines furrowed.

"I need to talk to you."

"Now?" Steve grouses.

She grabs his arm as if to prevent him from escaping.

"Actually yes," she says sounding not the slightest bit apologetic. "I have a presentation tomorrow and I need your take on the team."

"You're not going to get the best analysis from me right now," he snaps. "I just got my ass chewed off ... excuse my language, I missed lunch and I'm not in the mood to discuss the Avengers."

"It's almost dinner time."

"I know," he scowls. "For normal people. I was just about to stage an escape and try to grab a bite to eat."

"Well, let's grab something together and we can chat over dinner," she suggests.

He groans. "I'm not ..."

"I know," she brushes his objections aside. "But I need your opinion. And we both need to eat." She pulls out her ever present cellphone, swipes and taps and puts the phone to her ear.

He stands in the hallway, still annoyed, but less at her than at the organization they both work for.

He listens to her make a reservation for two 'at a quiet table'.

She hangs up. "You know 'Marcel's?"

"Isn't that kind of fancy?" he asks.

"Bah," she waves away his concern. "You took me to Plume. This is my treat."

"I was thinking more of a sandwich from Subway," he mutters.

"You know where it is?" she asks. "Race you there?"

"No chance," he snorts. "You'll have a half a dozen emails to deal with while I can just jump on my bike and go."

"Are you sure about that?" she grins. "First one there gets to pick the wine. Ready, set, go!"

Despite his sneaky attempt to delay her, Hill arrives at the restaurant before him. Neither has had a chance to change, but she's removed her austere business jacket and unbuttoned the top button on her blouse.

Her hair is still fastened up in her typical business-like bun.

Steve takes a seat just as a waiter unloads an array of appetizers.

She smiles at him. "Hope you don't think I'm being presumptuous, but I knew you were hungry so I went ahead and ordered starters," she explains.

"Are you kidding?" he grins, already feeling more relaxed after a ride across town on his beloved motorcycle. "I think I love you. I was about to eat the next idiot who crossed my path."

"Well, no need for violence. Dig in."

"How'd you get here so fast?" he asks.

"I know this town pretty well," she grins wickedly. "And I'm a little fast and loose with the rules sometimes."

"You mean you drive like a madwoman?"

"Pretty much."

They attack the wine and the appetizers and share a good bitch about the current environment at work. 

Steve admits to knowing little about wine.

"But you spent time in France and Italy?" she remembers.

"During the war," he reminds her. "It wasn't exactly a nice place to be. We were pretty much just pleased to get something, anything half way drinkable that wouldn't make us sick. In fact, we tended to drink alcohol because so much of the water was nasty."

"Funny, I'd heard you were becoming a bit of a foodie," she teased him gently.

"I'm learning to cook," he admits. "Since the future lacks things like robot servants and all."

She asks what he likes to cook; he tells her about the cooking class at the local grocery store and the helpful merchants at the weekly farmer's market.

The waiter has to approach them twice before they get around to opening their menus and choosing their meals. 

"Let me get this," he asks again. "I feel like I could eat an embarrassing quantity of food and I don't want you paying for me."

She waves away his objection. "It's on me. Eat as much as you want."

In fact, after they've ordered, she adds another dish, to the waiter's amusement. Steve makes a face.

"You were looking at it, weren't you?" she smiles at him. "Go on. Enjoy."

"Thanks."

"It's because of your fast metabolism, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Your food bill must be astronomical," she muses. "Do you lose weight quickly if you don't eat enough?"

"Not really," he explains. "I just lack energy. It's especially bad now because of the whole New York thing. After battles in general, I'm usually super hungry for days."

"You shouldn't have skipped lunch."

"Wasn't my choice."

They talk about music and recent movies they've seen - they both agree that the new James Bond actor is great - too bad about the terrible script. They finish the first bottle of wine and order a second. They taste off each other's plates and send compliments back to the chef. They order three desserts because they can't agree on just two. Maria samples all three, but it's Steve who finishes them.

And at no point do they talk about work.

Finally the bill arrives and Maria sighs and says to him, "you know I need your evaluation."

He groans. "Well I'm fed and watered and much more inclined to to be charitable, at least nicer than I would have been if you'd cornered me a couple of hours ago."

"Spill," she begs him. "What's your take on the individual members and whether they work well as a team?"

He checks them off on his fingers as he gives his assessment: Stark is a wild card. Dangerous. Not inclined to take orders, not temperamentally suited to leadership. "I'd recommend figuring out a kill switch for that suit in case he goes rogue."

\- Banner - super nice guy, but risk is high. "Hulk is only useful if you want to destroy something or somewhere and how often are you gonna want that?"

\- Romanov - amazing. Takes orders well, yet uses her initiative. I'd happily work with her again .

\- Barton - is it true he comes from the circus?

"Ask him yourself," smiles Maria.

"Surely it's in his files?"

"Probably, but wouldn't you rather people knew your history from you rather than what's written up in a file?"

"Of course."

"We try to extend the same courtesy to all our agents."

Steve looks dubious, but goes back to his assessment. "Barton was great in New York and I've worked with him before. He's professional and works well with others. My only concern would be the after affects of the brainwashing. He's gonna face some serious psychological issues."

Maria nods thoughtfully.

"What's with him and Romanov?" Steve asks.

Maria shrugs. "No really our business, is it? There's a pool at headquarters on whether they're sleeping together, but if they are, it's not exclusive."

He chews on that. "I can't see Romanov agreeing to that."

Maria shrugs. "Maybe it's her choice?"

"How the hell does that work?" Steve asks. "I mean, either you love someone or you don't, right?"

"Remember what I said about agents' post mission activities?"

He nods.

"As long as it doesn't affect any missions ...."

"OK."

Maria pulls out her phone intending to call for a taxi as she's had too much wine to drive home.

"Let me take you home," Steve offers. "I'm fine to drive."

She hesitates.

"Oh dear, do I need higher security clearance?" he laughs. "Is your home address that much of a secret?"

"Yes," she banters. "I might have to cover your eyes for the last few blocks."

They get up to leave and he realizes that she's wearing a skirt. Might be an issue on a motorcycle, but she's willing.

Down at the bike, he hands her the extra helmet and gets his fervent wish as she reaches up to loose her hair from the bun.

He focuses on being very still and composed to hide how turned on he is. With her hair now loose (although covered by the helmet), she climbs on behind him, her skirt hiked up to mid thigh, showing off toned, bare legs and she wraps her arms around his body. In his day, respectable women never went out without covering their legs - only floozies would show off bare legs - but he likes that modern women don't follow any such rules. It's an amazing distraction.

They survive the trip across town to a neighbourhood of quiet walk ups. She points; he parks.

"You know," he says as he takes off his helmet. "If you're interested, you could come with me to the farmer's market on Sunday."

She hesitates.

"I know you work like eight days a week," he cajoles, "but you could take some time. Give your bosses something to worry about if you're not at their beck and call all the time."

She looks intrigued. They walk up to her front door.

"Might be fun," she agrees.

"I'll pick you up," he suggests a little breathlessly.

"What time?"

"Ten o'clock?"

"Sounds good."

"So, Sunday, 10am," he repeats as if she could have forgotten. Then he leans in to kiss her, just a light brush of lips on lips, nothing serious.

Then he turns and walks away, very calmly. He does NOT look back to see if she's mad or surprised or stunned. He just gets back on his bike. When he finally looks up, she's gone inside.


	2. Chapter 2

He picks her up at ten on the dot. She's wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a leather jacket with her hair tied back in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck.

"It occurs to me," he says idly when they arrive at the market, "that today might not be the best day to bring you since it's the first time I've been back since the whole New York thing."

"Do they know who you are?"

"I don't know. They've been remarkably discreet - no requests for autographs or photos, no winks or special attention. We'll see if that holds today."

It does.

They wander through the market, sampling wares, buying a little here, a little there.

Steve dares touch her lightly to guide her through the crowds. He taps her shoulder to draw her attention to something and puts his hand to her waist for a moment.

He half expects her to glare or tell him to knock it off.

But she doesn't.

There's music playing - a small local band on the stage.

He makes a point of greeting a young woman and telling her that he enjoyed her music the previous week. Her eyes flick quickly to Maria standing next to him, but she chats pleasantly with Steve and advises him of an upcoming concert.

"I'll keep it in mind," he promises.

Maria smiles mysteriously.

"Do you want to eat lunch here?" he asks Maria.

"Bit early, don't you think?"

"Or we could go back to my place?" he suggests nonchalantly.

She hesitates.

"How long 'til your phone starts buzzing?" he asks with a gentle smile.

"It's off," she assures him. "HQ can tap in, but only if there's an emergency."

Which means nothing, they both know.

"Lunch sounds lovely," she says carefully. But she is thinking of the surveillance at his building. It would be ironic to get caught in the very web that she's set up. "How about if you make lunch at my place, instead?"

"Sure. I'd love to." He doesn't ask why.

 

They are barely through the door when her phone rings.

She swears and goes to answer it, gesturing for him to set their groceries down in the kitchen.

Steve doesn't say anything, but inside he's cursing. Can't have even one day?

She returns from the porch looking pissed off.

"Are you going to have to go back into work?" he guesses.

"Not yet," she says irritably, pinching her nose. "I think I've just bought us some time."

"I guess that's the price you pay for being irreplaceable," he suggests.

She snorts in a very unladylike way. "I was a very good field agent and my reward for that was to be chained to a desk as a liaison. My reward for being good at that, is more desk work until I can't even take a day off."

Steve winces.

"And then there's all the paperwork," she grouses.

"Hmmm."

She eyes him thoughtfully. "You realize, of course, there are rules, procedures for dealing with ... with this sort of thing? Between us?"

He quirks an eyebrow.

"Surely you know about fraternization?" she asks. "They must have had such rules in the army, back in the day?"

"Sure," he answers carefully, not bothering to point out that he's already had the official lecture on sexual harassment, and the unofficial talk from Clint. "But we're not ... er ... fraternizing." Privately, he thinks, 'yet.'

She gives him a sharp look. "If we were," she says, "we would have to disclose the nature of our relationship."

He looks at her in horror. "That seems awfully ..."

"Presumptuous? Nosy?"

"Uh huh."

"I agree. And I'm tired of SHIELD poking their noses into my business." She steps a little closer to him and taps his chest with a finger. "So, I've just bought us a free hour. What do you think we should do?"

She tugs at the elastic in her hair and pulls it loose.

He's suddenly very aware that she's standing closer than usual. He can smell the perfume she wears - a little spicy, kind of cinnamon and vanilla.

Steve finds that he's a little breathless. "I was just about to make lunch," he says rather stupidly.

She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head, her long hair falling loosely over her shoulders.

He wants very much to touch her hair, to see if it's as silky smooth as it looks.

"We could ... um?" he ventures.

She nods thoughtfully.

Steve is pretty clever and usually keeps up with witty banter just fine. But he's feeling slow and stupid right now. Possibly because his blood is being diverted away from his brain to other ... er regions of his body. But he tries to clarify.

"You want ... you think we should ... because you're mad at SHIELD?" he asks.

"No," she says patiently. "I'm mad at SHIELD because I was hoping to get to know you better today and they keep calling me."

"Oh."

"Have I misread you?" she asks. "I was getting the impression that you were ..."

"Interested," he finishes, "intrigued and fascinated. Also a little intimidated."

She looks amused, biting her lip.

He's always been more of an action man than one for words so he slides his hand around the back of her head and pulls her towards him for a kiss.

She tugs on his T-shirt, sliding cool hands up his torso.

He makes little sounds of pleasure, still kissing her.

"So," she murmurs a little breathlessly, "I don't know how it was in the forties, not sure if you think I'm being a bit forward ..."

He smiles, "I've been living in the future for a little while now. Please don't think you have to coddle me."

"So if I suggested?"

"I'd say 'yes'," he answers, "yes please."

He follows her down the hall to the bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

When the phone rings again, they're in the shower.

Together.

Steve quite likes this shower. It's huge, and he's enjoying the contrast of the cool tiles and the hot water jetting from nozzles in various places. Oh and the grab bars are very useful.

At first, he's not sure if she can hear it since the phone is in the living room and they are ... occupied.

Super hearing has its drawbacks.

But she falters and loses her rhythm for a moment.

He shifts his angle and brushes lips against her neck. "Think our time's up?"

"Bastards," she responds, then gasps as he adjusts his grip.

His control slips just a fraction.

He's very close.

From the little noises she's making, he guesses she is too. Not for the first time. Or even the second ...

"What happens if you don't answer," he asks. "Will they send in a swat team?"

She laughs breathlessly. "Or Fury. Can you imagine?"

"He can take a picture for the files ... remember - worth a thousand words."

She laughs again.

Her legs are wrapped around his waist and one hand is tracing patterns on his back that are driving him crazy.

"I can't," she whispers, her teeth grazing his collarbone.

He buries his nose in her damp hair and grins as she shudders and cries out. He lets go the last vestige of self control.

She slaps at a button on the wall and the jets of water cease. Suddenly and shockingly, it's quiet.

"Oh god," she says a moment later as they disentangle. "I never thought I could get sweaty in a shower. And you're pretty much insatiable, aren't you? No way I could tire you out?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment. Not sure who was trying to tire whom out."

The phone rings again and she sighs. "I guess I'll go answer that."

"Mmm," he agrees.

He takes his time cleaning up and drying off. He's never been in a private bathroom this big before. The mirrors are tinted, the floor is futuristic - soft underfoot and yet waterproof, and the towels are enormous and fluffy.

He can't find his T-shirt so he wanders into the living area wearing just his jeans.

He's not vain by any measure, but he's also not stupid. He knows women appreciate his body. He's heard them and intercepted approving looks. He figures Maria isn't going to mind if he walks around shirtless until he can find his missing clothes.

She's on the glassed in porch wearing a brightly patterned kimono and saying very nasty things (he thinks) in Spanish to someone on the cellphone.

She waves him away, mouthing 'classified' to him.

He wanders into the kitchen very grateful that his job doesn't require high levels of security. He's enjoying the warm post-sex glow that makes him want to grin at everything and nothing. Maybe hum a little.

He plugs his iPod into speakers on the counter and starts to make lunch.

Like everything else in the apartment, Maria's appliances are smooth and elegant and easy to use. Rather suspiciously clean in Steve's opinion, but highly functional.

He makes lunch from the ingredients bought at the market.

Maria returns to the kitchen and tosses the cellphone irritably onto the couch. "Way to kill my buzz," she says, making a face.

"Sorry. Are you hungry?"

"I am. That's a nice look on you, by the way."

"I couldn't find my shirt."

"Oh yeah." She pulls open the kimono just enough to reveal that she's wearing his shirt.

"Ah ha."

Having worked up an appetite, they savour the food with enthusiasm.

"I didn't know my oven could create such yummies," she comments.

"Thanks. Just needs the right incentive. What happens if we don't tell anyone and then get found out later?"

She shrugs. "Not sure. Bit of a lecture, I guess. I think disclosure is supposed to protect us in case things go south. You know, if things don't work out."

"Uh huh."

"You're thinking we can keep this a secret for a while? Even though we're surrounded by spies?"

"When you put it like that ..." 

She smiles at him. "You like the idea of a challenge?"

"And," he says carefully. "Even though it's different now, I worry about what people will say."

She nods. "Sadly, you're probably right."

"What about your little problem?"

She scowls. "Looks like I'll have to go myself to clean up their mess. Sorry. Probably radio silence while I'm gone."

"S'ok," he says. "I'm not happy to hear it, but I knew what your job entailed."


End file.
